Talentd Mr Ripley

Monday, June 16, 2014

Sometimes we say yes to spontaneity and get rewarded with curvy roads through sweeping green farmlands, red barns, livestock, wildlife, blue skies, and breathtaking river canyons.

We wanted to keep it simple: be out after work for a one and a half hours, maybe two. The farmlands, though, bathed in late spring and lit up in our visors, pushed our bikes like predators to a fleeing sun. It was a shame to go so fast through the enchanted landscape. But, we grabbed more and more throttle, the road guiding us to the river.

We weren't lost, and didn't arrive where we set out to. But as other bikers will tell you, getting lost is part of the reward.

Friday, November 1, 2013

Recurring dream: I'm in our old house, the one we moved out of 9 years ago. I'm panicked because the new owners have been waiting for us to move our things out. Our stuff and their stuff, miscellany, fills the house. At first they're not home. I start making an inventory and wander through each room. The living room still has our hunter green plaid couch and matching love seat, oak entertainment center, coffee table, computer desk, and kids craft table. A samurai sword collection, not mine, hangs on the wall. The kitchen sink is filled with our dirty dishes. From the deck I look over the backyard and the grass is riddled with dog shit, that we never picked up. The fence I built with my father-in-law is falling apart. Tall weeds choke a rusty swing set. The bunk beds in the girls' room are without bedding but still not moved out. Our dresser sits in the master bedroom, and our clothes hang in the closet. The little bathroom off the master bedroom has our towels hanging on hooks and our toothbrushes standing in a cup by the sink. I walk downstairs and the unfinished basement is still unfinished. Piles of our dirty laundry still wait their turn in our washer and dryer. Clutter, unboxed, spreads from wall to wall. From there I walk into the garage where our bikes and lawn mower and yard tools and cabinets and ladders and tool boxes gather dust. The owners burst through the door and they're not startled to find me there. I look at them and know this isn't my home. It feels weird because in my dream I know 9 years have passed. Why do I return again and again?

Tuesday, October 29, 2013

1. to possess; own; hold for use; contain.
2. to hold, posses, or accept in some relation, as of kindred or relative position.
3. to get, receive, or take: to have a part in
4. to experience, undergo, or endure, as joy or pain.
5. to hold in mind, sight, etc.

Like having something in your hand, an object you hold. Or having something held deeper inside.

Most often, the having — that something — is manufactured and fed by desire: something we want, wish for, or hope .... to have. With small beginnings we start to believe. Over time, we release more of our hearts to it. And believe we have something. In simple terms, having something is real if both people acknowledge it and want the attachment to continue.

However, attachment is a really hard to master. Rarely do both parties want the same level of attachment at the same time, especially early. Or even over time, patterns become obstacles to attachment, which hinder growth.

Early or late, one usually wants a little more; while one usually wants a little less. Or one doesn't pursue while one likes being chased. Or one scares the other with feelings. Or one can't handle the other's feelings. (Which is perfectly understandable; not everyone is everyone's cup of tea.) Or, one settles into the attachment faster than the other. And probably a million other variables.

And therein the dance plays out. Are we dancing together, or just moving awkwardly in close proximity?

Monday, December 17, 2012

Lately, life teaches me that absolutes are far from absolute (well... besides death and taxes, pesky physics, math, etc). Life in general is so fuzzy, in motion — the present made up of moments stacked liked train cars. The tracks lead away from the past, meander to the future.